


The Shepherding Storm

by Kolamity



Category: Once Upon a Time (2011)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kolamity/pseuds/Kolamity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma is running out of reasons to stay in Storybrooke. Gold has a few suggestions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shepherding Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keenir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keenir/gifts).



> Spoilers warning: This piece takes place after "The Heart Is A Lonely Huntsman."

Emma tightened her red leather jacket, shoulders hunched against the stiff wind. The motion did no good-- a storm was fast approaching, the first true bite of winter, and in these temperatures she might as well have been wearing a flimsy windbreaker for all the good the leather did her. She’d kill for the mittens Mary Margaret was stealth knitting. Emma had lost feeling in the digits back near Mr Gold’s shop, and the farther she walked the worse the sensation grew. But she wasn’t in the mood to face the town, even if it meant a little frostbite. 

Not after the latest confrontation with Regina. 

Emma closed her eyes. If her car hadn’t stalled, she’d have been halfway to Boston by now instead of freezing her ass off on some forsaken bridge in the middle of nowhere. Why was she even still here, anyway? 

By all accounts, Henry was doing worse since she’d arrived. Mary Margaret wouldn’t admit it, but she’d peeked in the records and seen his grades had plummeted. He hung around with her after school and had abandoned his previous interests. And that wasn’t even factoring in the whole fantasy he’d constructed. She’d come to Storybrooke to make sure Henry was okay, but clearly she was making things worse. 

It wasn’t as if she had any other reason tying her here. Emma hated small towns, and Storybrooke was the worst she’d slummed in yet. Everyone knew your business before you’d figured it yourself. She almost could swear she could feel the eyes on her out on this abandoned bridge, even though the sensible folk of Storybrooke had sought shelter against the gathering storm hours back. No wonder the kid was obsessed with a curse-- he had her blood after all, mistaking the wanderlust she’d been driven by her entire life for a so-called curse. 

Even in the woods by herself, she couldn’t breathe without smelling one of Granny’s notorious diabetic coma pies. It was ridiculous how connected everything in this town was. Almost incestuous.  

“So what if the kid isn’t happy,” Emma muttered, leaning over the edge of the bridge. Not the wisest of moves-- the entire structure began to gently sway beneath the movement. 

Emma had grown up in the system and she’d made it out alright. Regina might not be the best of parents, but Henry was obviously loved and had a home Emma would have killed for as a kid. He was misunderstood and lonely, but he wasn’t abused. She might have her suspicions about Graham’s death, but the fact was Regina had a right to the kid. She was already worlds better at parenting than Emma’s own had been, abandoning a day old newborn in the middle of the woods.

She tensed, shoving her numb hands deep into stiff jean pockets. A patch of broken rocks caught her eye, down at the river's edge. Until she got a little warm again, she wasn’t going to make it much farther. And Emma sure as hell wasn’t going to mope up here like a teenager, blasted on all sides by the high winds. 

She jumped down, wincing as the loose stones shifted beneath her boots. Hobbling back to Mary Margaret’s on a sprained ankle with a storm threatening to break? Not her idea of a going away present from this awful town. 

"A bit late for a patrol, Deputy Swan." She'd missed the footsteps of Mr Gold's approach, but his whisper was unmistakable. No wonder she’d felt eyes on her. 

By moonlight, Emma would almost swear the man looked ghoulish, with his shallow skin and gleaming eyes. It was all just a trick of the too full moon, she was sure, and her head still filled with Henry's tales. Yet another reason to head out. 

"Mr Gold," She managed a polite nod. She may not like the man, but who knew? Maybe this would be the last she saw of him. And talking was warming her up a bit anyway. "Didn't think anyone else would be out here with that storm coming."

The man hesitated, his eyes twitching back to the bridge before steading on her. Did he think she’d lugged the kid out in this weather? 

"Have I disturbed your quiet my dear? The storm looks particularly nasty so I thought to make sure no mischief makers were about. You see, our departed Sheriff Graham would do the job, but with him no longer among us..."

Emma closed her eyes, unsettled by her blurry vision. Usually the wind didn’t affect her this way. But even as she blamed the air for her tears, she knew it wasn’t true. The man was barely in the grave a day. Mary Margaret was right after all about him getting through her wall-- she usually handled death better than this. 

She crossed her arms over her chest again, tightening the red leather. Not the best shield, but the best she could manage at the moment. Her smile blistered it lied so brightly. "Nope, just me out here."

Gold’s hand came to a heavy rest on her shoulder. She would have shrugged it off, but sympathy lingered in the man's eyes. It was real, unlike the masks the townspeople had slapped her with at Graham’s funeral hours before. "And the weight of a very troubled heart."  

"Frankly I'm not sure why my heart should interest you, Mr Gold. The business between Graham and myself is over with. He's gone and I'm-"

"Still here, yes I see." Gold slowly removed his hand, lips twitching around the hint of a smile. "I wonder why that is. Surely by now you've grown tired of our little town. It certainly hasn't done you any favors since your arrival."

Emma winced. That was putting it lightly. Being tossed in jail had been the least of the trails this town had forced upon her.   "You mean since the son I gave up dragged me here?" 

"You were the one driving that monstrosity of a vehicle to Storybrooke, Miss Swan, not Henry. It wasn't the boy alone that compelled you here."

Emma stared at the man, disbelieving. "Not the curse again. Gold, you cannot believe in Henry's fairy tales." 

There was no immediate answer. The world around them had grown quiet, saturated by a familiar heaviness to the air. The rain would be starting soon, Emma was sure, but Gold seemed oblivious, his eyes locked on the waters before them. What comfort could the storm give this man? 

"I believe in a great many things, Miss Swan," Gold began, his voice barely a whisper above the rising wind. And odd smile twitched across his face, almost fanciful. It did not belong there. "But I do know that Henry’s obsession with fairy tales did not begin until the late Sheriff began seeing Regina."

Emma's jaw dropped. "Are you saying that Henry was aware of Regina... and Graham?"

The smile twisted into one more at home on the man's face. His sympathy may have been genuine, but it didn’t settle well on his face. "I'd wager all of Storybrooke was aware of those two, yes. There aren't many secrets in a town like this."

So Henry had known about Regina and Graham. Why hadn't he said anything? 

She let it tumble in her mind. Henry _had_ always been uncomfortable in Graham's presence. And he had picked Graham as the Evil Queen's Huntsman. Was all of this just a boy acting out because he wanted his mother's attention? It didn't seem right-- Henry was still obsessed with breaking the curse, and that wasn't the action of a boy who had reclaimed his mother, even if he had chosen to spend the evening with Regina instead of hang with her.  

"Do you think that's why he's so obsessed with these fairytales? Proving Regina wrong? Trying to make sense of what he's seen?"

Gold shook his head. "Henry is a confused young man. Better to leave the pathology to one such as Mr Hopper. He was happy, once. The trouble escalated, I fear, after he'd purchased the book from my shop."

She'd wondered where he'd gotten the book. "So you think if I left and took the book with me, everything would go back to how it was? He'd be happy?"

Gold's hands tightened at his sides. It was momentary, fast enough for Emma to almost swear she'd imagined it, but it was there. "Storybrooke would miss your presence," He spoke carefully. "I realize the loss of Sheriff Graham is weighing heavily on your heart, but to leave now..." 

"Look, I'm not running scared. Henry's great, but this town... This place is not for me. I don’t fit here and there’s nothing here for me besides Henry. There's no such thing as destiny or fairy tales, Mr Gold. I came here just for a troubled boy and once I'm sure he's happy, I'll be leaving." 

"I see." 

"That’s not an invitation to try and convince me otherwise," She warned, keeping an uneasy eye at the sky above. The clouds were heavy and full, half obscuring the full moon. She'd probably stayed out here too long. Even if she left now Emma was sure she'd be drenched before she arrived at Mary Margaret's. Gold seemed oblivious to the storm, focused entirely on her. 

"Miss Swan, if Storybrooke held nothing for you, no force in Storybrooke could keep you here. And yet even after Regina’s, ah, heated speech," He waved, dismissing her humiliation outside Regina's house before half the town as if it was nothing. "You stand here at the river’s edge." 

"My car’s shot." Emma admitted. “Otherwise I’d be gone.”

Gold busied himself with smoothing the fabric of his jacket; how he wasn’t shivering to death in such a thin material, Emma _needed_ to know. The wind was picking up-- maybe she’d be lucky and it would blow the rain by before she got too wet. When Gold looked up, his face was schooled, too calculatedly smooth around his creepy edges. Was it just the approaching storm, or did everything unnerve her about this man?

“Even with the matter of Sheriff Graham’s mysterious death still unresolved? A man as young as he does not simply fall over dead, no matter what Mr Whale suggests.” 

“The autopsy results won’t be back for weeks,” Emma put out, blowing harshly on a numb hand. She was unsurprised by the sight of her own breathe, stark against the night. “I’ve already looked through Graham’s things, no sign of foul play.”

Gold remained still, save for his widening smile. “Are you sure?” 

He had her there. Not that she’d admit it-- she was planning on taking some samples she’d stolen off of Graham up to Boston, see what her sources could dig up. Because Gold was right-- people just don’t keel over and die, especially not after vigorously kissing moments before hand. 

Graham kissed like he was a man diving for enlightenment against her lips, not feebly giving up the ghost.  

"Then there’s the matter of Sheriff. Graham held the office under Regina, but he had a good head on his shoulders, never mixing business with... pleasure."

Emma bristled. “He’s barely in the ground-”

Gold waved his hand. “I apologize my dear, I meant no disrespect towards our late Sheriff. But I can’t think of a single person in this town who could stand up to Regina half as well as you, and that’s precisely what this town needs for the next Sheriff. The last thing Storybrooke needs is another yes-person to Regina.”

“I’m sure there’s _someone_ ,” Emma protested, twisting her fingers to try and work some blood back in them. Just because she couldn’t think of anyone didn’t mean one couldn’t exist. “Who would vote me into office, anyway?”

“You’d be surprised, Miss Swan. You are the only deputy the town’s had as long as I can recall. And being Henry’s mother--” He caught her wince, quickly adding, “ _Birth_ mother, that makes you practically family.”  

For a long moment, Emma remained quiet. Gold definitely had a point-- there was more for her here than she’d realized. But staying would mean planting some serious roots, roots she wasn’t sure she ever intended digging. To a person who rarely stayed in the same city longer than a year, being sworn in as Sheriff of a small town was akin to jetting off to the moon-- possible, definitely but it would take a hell of a lot to happen and for what? What could this town ultimately offer her? She wasn’t about to take Henry away from Regina. Sheriffs could be voted out of office. Emma figured Graham’s death would be easy enough to solve once she had her sources in order. 

"Thanks for the pitch, Mr Gold, but I’m afraid Storybrooke and I aren’t ready for anything permanent.”

Gold didn’t seem bothered by her words. He laughed jollily enough, waving his hand and smiling. Though his posture was harmless, his voice held an unmistakable edge. "Oh, don't mind this sentimental fool. I'd hoped you'd see that Storybrooke could be a new family for you. We'd all love to have you stay. Perhaps Mary Margaret can help with your car tomorrow. She has some surprising connections."

A fat glob of rain struck her forehead then, followed quickly by a hundred more. The rain had begun and with Mary Margaret's flat was on the other side of town, it was inevitable Emma was quickly going to be a drenched rat. 

She cursed, holding useless hands above her drenched face. " _Great_. Well, Mr Gold, this has been enlightening. Thanks for the company, I guess."

Emma jogged to the forest line, catching her breath beneath the shelter of the tall canopy trees. Gold did not follow. Was he really stupid enough to stand out in the rain? She looked back at the broken stones beside the waters. 

Gold was still at the edge of the river, ghoulish as ever, staring up at the faint light of the full moon beneath the black clouds. The downpour was nothing to him, standing tall  with a wide, victorious smile displaying gleaming teeth. 

She could almost swear her name was on his gilded tongue. 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide, Keenir!
> 
> First of all, I just wanted to thank you for your prompts! Looking at the episodes trying to unravel Henry's motivations and complex relationship with his mother has taken my appreciation for the show to an entirely different level. And this fic could not have existed without "The Heart Is A Lonely Huntsman," but that's what happens, I guess, when a show kills off the POV character of your Yuletide fic. Oops!


End file.
